


Harrison Bergeron, A Prequel

by BubblyShip



Category: Harrison Bergeron - Kurt Vonnegut
Genre: Finished, Oneshot, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyShip/pseuds/BubblyShip
Summary: Prequel to Harrison Bergeron, that's about it.
Kudos: 1





	Harrison Bergeron, A Prequel

Harrison couldn’t recall his age. Couldn’t recall exactly when the handicaps were increased. How could he, when a screaming whale echoed throughout his brain and caused him to wince from the screech? It was the kind of screech that’d make a child cry, a person fumble down the stairs, and his brain to scatter. Only for a moment. Harrison always had a quick recovery time, but that’d soon be fixed. If “fixed” was the appropriate word. To be frank, he never did like that word. Always made him feel more like their slightly broken T.V than an actual, living, breathing boy.

“Oh dear, he’s really done it this time, hasn’t he?” His Mother’s voice, a woman of a strong brain like his, wavered through the doors. She was a woman where, if your intelligence weighed you down, she’d have no need for physical handicaps. Her brain would have been plenty weight enough. Another burst of noise, and his cry echoed his Mother’s. But his didn’t last very long.

The floor was white. So were the walls, the ceiling, and the bland artwork randomly assigned around the room. Not much but white and grey colors. They didn’t dare to stimulate anyone’s minds, especially if it could bring out more talent than others. Equal. Equal. Equal.

Harrison would have spat out at that word, but a third vibration of sound tore through his mind. Car tires. Fun.

When he was younger, just a little boy in a plaid outfit, he blamed his peers. They didn’t have to wear much. Yet he was forced to wear a handicap over his mouth. He developed his speech faster than others, and suffered for it. Nowadays, he begun to focus on the truth.

Everything that Harrison excelled in only brought punishment, it seemed. Perfect grades earned handicaps. Perfect speech earned handicaps. It was addicting, during the brief periods of time he was free of the restrictions, to feel above others. _Exhilarating_.

“Harrison, darling,” His Mother said, opening the door.

She was quite well familiar with the Doctor’s office. Though she couldn’t think much, she had obviously known her way around the halls. Around the white, sickness of delosite isolation and control. She got quarterly visits, and the trait had been passed down to him. His Father, a man without much brain or body, visited yearly. Harrison Bergeron and Mrs. Bergeron got checked four times a year. On the T.V, tucked away in a corner rumbled singing, slowly fading out as the next show started it’s tired parade of fake entertainment. Guess it was sport time soon.

“Mom? Do I have to?” Harrison asked. His voice was weak from the voice prohibitors they had placed inside of his mouth. When he became excited, he became loud.

“I…” Her thoughts were cut off by the violent scratch of nails on chalkboard. Both her and he reeled from that, but Harrison was sitting up much faster. The Doctor gave him a knowing, disturbed look. Harrison returned only a glare.

“He needs updated handicaps immediately, he’s close to graduating but his mind is too quick.” The Doctor adjusted his glasses. “Quicker than yours. According to the 212th Amendment, that is.” The word ‘amendment’ made Harrison scowl. If he kept making faces, his own might fall off. “Tests need to be done. Yes, yes.” Another vibration. A distant voice of a woman screaming echoed through the halls.

“Harrison, come along,” His mother said, “Come along quickly. I wish to be done before dinner. We’re having meatloaf.”

He followed. Not willingly. Plainly. His back ached from strain. Sometimes he wished he could shed the weights and jump. Jump so far and high he’d disappear and never be found. To fly amongst the stars was his final goal in life. Free of everything, mentally and physically.

More sound. This time a… piranha? It was definitely some fish. Piranha for sure. As his Mother recovered from the shock, the Doctor sat them down. The man didn’t even have much handicaps mentally, but a mask covered the upper half of his face, dulling his eye color. He must have beautifully colored eyes.

The procedure went accordingly. It always did. Scanning his mind. Doing visual tests. Hearing tests. And, for those tests, his handicaps were removed. He felt so free, so light, so happy that he laughed and giggled and spun in his spot. Why couldn’t everyone just enjoy their lives without the weight of being held back? It gave him such a high that nothing else could try and come close to.

That feeling was over after the tests were done. It always was. After the prodding, the labor, the obsession with his excelling traits, Harrison found himself staring at his new handicaps. Upgraded. Heavier. Spread out across the table like a sea of metal and junk. Junk going to be on his body

Placing one upon his head made him look like an alien. He stared into the mirror was a clear discomfort, disgusted at the sight. It suck out with weird jabs of metal and orbs left and right. One could compare him akin to that of a reindeer, or some other weird animal, than a human being.

Wearing it sent more harsher jolts in his mind. These were ruthless. Shocking, screaming, tearing his thoughts apart like wet, muddied paper, showing just how little value his mind mattered to others.

“Mom?” He asked, voice wavering from the strain of the head gear. He hadn’t even bore the weight of the physical handicaps yet.

The woman, tall and fit, looked dazed. Her lips parted slightly, eyes glossy, as she recovered from the intense shock. It took a few moments, but when she did come to, she blinked away a few stray tears. “Hurry, hurry! Meatloaf, remember? We must be in time for dinner. Just let the Doctor add your handicaps and we could return home pronto.”

Harrison eyed the physical restraints, then looked towards the door. Without those, he could outrun everyone.

“None of that, dear,” His Mother said, helping the Doctor push him down, and the weights were added.

And so they went home after his quarterly visit. His body slumped around with the new weights, head lolling every twenty seconds when the next inevitable round of mind numbing noise would sweep out across people. One made him double over so hard he fell to the floor, cold meatloaf tainting his lips as a cruel reminder of their society.

He loved when the day ended.

The weights fell to the floor when it was time for a shower. Gone with the physical bags, gone with the mental restraints, leaving Harrison, the true Harrison, to stand in his bedroom with wet hair and a happy grin. His muscles flexed. His jaw ached with a new smile. But most of all, his soul soared; soared with upmost freedom. No opportunities ever came to use his flying heart, for he had to settle down, onto the bed, and stare up at the blandest of ceilings.

It’d be nice to get a painter to fix up his ceiling. His arms reached up, almost as if to feel the ceiling, imagining a more colorful look to it. A painter without any restraints. Who could brush and brush and brush until the ceiling resembled the starry sky outside and lingered with the scent of imagination. It was beautiful. He loved the night sky, and wished he could look at it when he slept.

Alas, he closed his eyes, and white ceilings haunted his dreams, looking quite like silly aliens indeed.

The new handicaps were almost insulting. They jutted out in metal plates, with wires whisked around the outside much like the rings surrounding Saturn. He looked silly. Harrison didn’t like silly. Silly felt weird, felt normal, stupid. Comparable to the masks some were forced to wear. Silly. Hideous. In his dreams, the dreams not interrupted by his Mother’s dull voice of alarm, would he dream of tearing back those masks and revealing beautiful and serious people, each unique and different from one another. And he’d discard his own plates and wires and balls galore, and dance under the stars until his feet ached, even when he’d awake from his slumber with a high heart and low hope.

Most of his time he thought when he could. He’d struggle through a painful noise meant to scramble his thoughts and grit his teeth, letting thoughts loose in his restrained mind. Be free, he’d tell them. Be free and think, do what they can’t truly stop you from. Continue. Grow. And they did just that. Through the pain, the screams, the noises, he’d squeeze his eyes shut and think through them. Because he’s not done yet. He has more to do. Has more to see.

One day, he risked the effort, and took off a few of his mental handicaps. Tried to duck them underneath his desk, just for one test.

“Harrison, what are you doing?” His teacher asked.

“The noise hurt me,” He’d say, try to whine, but wouldn’t tell the full truth. That cost a pretty penny in fines. And it cost quite some privacy as well, as some of the police were assigned to watch over him. Because he became too strong for their liking.

No one could know that he keep thinking. That his mental handicaps would need new enhancements, despite being added only a few weeks ago. He couldn’t let them. Harrison wasn’t even sure what to think about, all he knew was that he wanted to keep thinking about things. It made him feel like himself, whenever he thought simple thoughts. Sometimes about his two younger siblings. Other times about his parents. The noises pressed on, but he grew above them. Learned to tune them about. Because he didn’t want to become numb. Didn’t want to forget.

Harrison was a walking pile of metal. He’d stumble into a room, sit down silently, and never physically pushed himself. No. He had to think, use his mind, as much as he could.

One of his classmates, a girl with red braided hair and a mask over her mouth, was a thinker. Just like he was. He never could tell, because he’d think about himself, think about kissing the night sky as he roared upwards in height. Who could think about others when he had to think about his own freedom?

That was the first day he met her. On a Friday. Fri-yay, his Mother would exclaim sometimes, between weeks. His Father would grunt with amusement, but that particular Friday was not an amusing day.

A flutter of red braided hair as caught his sight. Metal crashed to the floor in heaps from her head, and she stopped, dead in the hall, as sirens blared from the distance. He could only stare. She noticed him. Everyone always did. Harrison Bergeron, the boy with most talent, with most handicaps. Passed from his Mother with skill and strength. Height, too. Everyone noticed him, no matter their acquaintance with him.

“Do you want to be free?” She asked, voice trembling as she pulled off her mask. Beautiful lips, perfectly aligned, the softest pink any lips in existence had been.

Harrison, in his shock, only heard the answer after it left from his throat. “Yes. Please.”

She jammed a slip of paper into his hands. “Then be free, enlighten others.” A steady smile on her perfect lips. “Do what I failed to do. This’ll help.”

A brush of red braids flew in the wind, and she ran. Ran far past the science classrooms, rounded the hall, and a thud of doors told him as to where she ran. To the playground. Right as he felt his earpieces steady, on the verge of tearing through any thoughts with a noise, did he hear the first gunshot.

Then the noise came.

It was like no other sound he ever heard from his earpiece. Nothing but a screech blazed through the connection, making the poor boy drop to the ground under the weight of his restraints. No mercy. No reprieve. Only a screech, lasting far longer than it should have, leaving him trembling and wetly gasping when the Government finally decided to tone it down. He touched his face, under the metal, and found tears staining his cheeks from the pain.

None of that. Not enough time. Despite the pain, and despite his ears ringing, he stood, and forced his way down the hall. Following her path like a lost dog, he stopped by a window - and caught sight of her dead body.

Sprawled out across the grass, her corpse slumped downwards, with several bullet holes lining her clothes. If it weren’t for her braids, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish her hair from her blood. Both were bright red. Her body was caked in that fearsome liquid, staining her clothes, and staining the ground. Someone passing by could mistake her for being attacked by a tomato.

And there she was. The woman of authority. Diana Moon Glampers. The woman of darkness and the T.V. His soon to be enemy. She cocked her gun to the side, much like her head, and muttered something into her radio. Two men carried the girl away, and his classmates carried on as if they didn’t witness anything.

They asked questions. Or, to be more specific, Diana Moon Glampers asked questions. Diana would sit down with students, one at a time, and ask them about the girl with braids. If she told them anything. Diana would tap her trusty shotgun to the floor, as a warning or a blessing, and would await responses. When she came to him, he muttered a no, and folded the paper in his lap.

It was later when he discovered what was written on the paper. An address. With three little w’s before it. Online address. Why, out of all things she could have given him, did she give him this? Online activity was monitored, and, of course, greatly limited. Harrison barely even got ten minutes because of his excessive handicaps. That wouldn’t be much help at all!

Hoping to distract the authorities from his internet usage, he put on his favorite show - dancing ballerinas - and brought out his computer. Under his sheets, free of handicaps, he sat and typed in the address. He bit his lip, thought back to the stars, and pressed enter.

And his world opened anew.

It was a hacking website. Built under the protection of smart people. People as talented as him were protesting, sending messages across the world to free others. She had given him the code when her identity was on the verge of being caught. He signed into her account and watched as plans and secrets unfolded. People wanted to soar. Just like him, they wanted to soar and fly well past the clouds into the stars above.

And Harrison was going to do that. Lead them to the sky like birds.

He started right away. Started protesting, hacking websites and sending threats and pleas. Sometimes he’d take off his handicaps, stripping himself of the dumpster alien they made him, and would dance around his room in tune with the dancers on screen. No metal to clash, no sounds, just the plain freedom of a dance.

Harrison wanted others to feel that very freedom, the same he did. That’s why he persisted with his online protests. Whenever he discarded his handicaps, his brain whirled with ideas, and he found hacking easier and easier by the day. He stopped shows, programmed messages, and sent out as much inspiring quotes as he could. His online hours were building, and they would notice soon. She would notice soon.

And, when the next handicap inspection came…

He skipped it.

Harrison boarded up himself inside of his room, free of the restraints, and typed. Wrote as much as he could online. Sirens roared across the room as he typed, each letter bringing him closer to his impending doom. No. He wasn’t done yet! Harrison had so much more to do!

Footsteps. Pounding. It echoed in his ears, much like the noises from the headset, but he knew it was real. That people were inside of his house, outside of his bedroom door, kicking it down. And he persisted his typing, sending one final message before he smashed the computer to bits with a talented hand.

The first officer was easy to take care of. A punch, a swift kick, and they fell down. The second came. Then the third. He couldn’t keep up. They had batons and electricity and all he had were his bare hands. Those same hands that were talented, that reached towards the ceiling and sky that he wanted to kiss, now bruised and ached. More fighting. More resistance. And that darn woman, Diana Glampers, staring at him from the end of his hallway with a gun cocked.

They forced his handicaps back onto him when they managed to hold him down. On came the weights, the restraints, the metal he thought made him look like a silly alien, and soon he was nothing more than the unspecial boy he was previously.

They dragged him to a prison cell, labeled highly dangerous and a rebel. Harrison Bergeron, the leader of the rebellion, the boy who turned a man and was the strongest one around, now lay in a cell, left to rot. The trial would be approaching eventually, to determine his fate of death, but no one shared a date.

In his final thoughts, between the nonstop of sound ringing bells and trains through the handicaps, he managed to look out through the small window and look at the sky. It was truly beautiful. Painted in a symphony of black and blue, with tints of purple to glitter behind the perfect stars. Exceptional was the sky, he mused. And they’d never be able to handicap that.

So, he sat, lost in his state of blatant normality, and waited. Waited for dancers to dance better than they never would. Waited for painters to paint his dull cell as colorful as the night.

And, of course, waited for a chance to escape. So he could jump as high as the sky and never return.


End file.
